On the Precipice of a Wasted Day

Looks like WordPress has been having some issues with their ping backs on the daily prompt so I guess I’m not special enough to actually get banned from being posted on there. That’s upsetting to me, but guess what, when they fix that shit I’m going to post on there again! Ha! Sorry, pickledsparklymooseprincess!

It’s all shitty and raining outside and cold as a bitch but I’ve got the day off. And I ain’t even going to do shit. This old mother fucker can call me if he wants. He owes me like five hundred dollars at this point and I ain’t even done shit on that project for a few weeks.

I’d better be careful today. Sometimes I have days off and I set the expectations so low that by the end of the day I’m like shit man I didn’t do anything today but I also didn’t enjoy it. I have a bad relationship with days off. Almost makes me wish I had an Xbox. At least by the end of the day I would have built myself a new battleship or something. I need instant gratification or else it’s all a waste. I guess I could try to get a thousand more iPhone pages into Les Miserables. Then again I been reading on days I work, because I can, whereas I have not been writing because I don’t have time for that shit. So I should just write the whole time, but I always say that and then at the end of the day I do not feel good. And then the next day I probably bust out a thousand words in five minutes that were better than the whole day of writing before. But of course it could be that I had to write all that dumb shit to find those five minutes of gold. That’s only a rationalization; I don’t really believe it.

And I can already feel the sleep coming on. Maybe I just have to get dressed in shitty clothes and get my ass out there in the rain and get uncomfortable. Maybe that’s the secret.

Last night I stayed up until 3 drinking and listening to Nat King Cole’s Joy to the World. I woke up at 5:30 to the sound of a big mirror crashing to the floor. My heart rate tripled and all the sudden I got some extreme heart burn. I downed two Pepto-Bismol tablets and a glass of milk but I thought I was going to have a god damned heart attack. I don’t know what the fuck that was about.

So here we are at one in the afternoon. How will this day play out? How will I end up feeling? What will I wish I had done by the time 9 o’clock gets here?

Advertisements

Today I Felt Okay

I woke up today and I didn’t feel sad. The weather was shitty, and I had to go to work. But I didn’t mind it so much. One thing went right that if it had gone wrong, might have fucked the entire day up, so that might have been the reason. I am “on call” for lunch on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so I never know until about 9:30 in the morning if I am going to have to go in at 11:45 and work lunch. If I had had to work lunch this morning, and then work dinner, I would have probably been in a fucked up place by the end of the day.

I had switched my sleep schedule around because Wife is working overnight at the bakery for Thanksgiving and all. But anyway, that didn’t end up fucking me in the ass like it could have.

But I don’t think that was the reason I didn’t feel sad, like I normally do. I don’t know what it was.

I wrote another Daily Post response but I think I got banned from that shit or something. My fellow daily post-er Chas at The Rad Blog is also having trouble. I think it might have something to do with profanity or some shit, I have no idea. Fuck em. You should check out his blog if you like mine. He rambles a lot, too, and keeps it interesting.

So my visibility just got kicked in the dick and I guess the only way to keep getting views is to keep writing more content. Maybe those bastards really didn’t like my posts, or thought they weren’t following the prompt closely enough. I was going to say they should have at least emailed me or something, but it’s possible they did because I don’t check my Gordon Flanders account, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.

I’m actually pretty sleepy. Probably because I took a shower and got under my comforter.

Yeah but that walking around not feeling depressed was weird. I was thinking of setting goals and shit. And where I wanted to be next year, as if I’d still be alive. And I was thinking I was going to stop looking at my stats all the time.

Alright yo well I just started this story yesterday and I got like 1700 words in so I’m going to go for another 1700 and pass the fuck out so I can work a twelve hour day tomorrow.

The Last Time I Did Something Nice for Anyone

Shaken and Stirred

The most elaborate meal I’ve ever cooked was probably trying to make my mom’s lasagna that one time in the dorm in college. It wasn’t all that hard but I am not good at cooking and it was a small kitchen.

Yeah it was pretty boring. I don’t know why I was even making that. I was like twelve then. Or nineteen.

I remember I was making it for my girlfriend at the time. For her and her friends.

I burned it.

I Am Lazy At Writing

Shit I just wrote this whole blog post about nothing, and then I thought to myself, wow I have gotten two hundred words into this blog post and I have said nothing worth saying.

Man shit I don’t have anything to say, I’m just trying to avoid pushing ahead on this new story I am writing. It’s a story about nothing, just people getting in a car so far. I like getting in cars and listening to music. And I like the idea of smoking cigarettes. So that is what my stories are always about, until I get tired of writing them and stop.

Ok back to work then.

God damn Daily Post fucking me up again, didn’t post my fucking response. I know if they would just post that shit I could come up with a hundred views no problem. Son of a bitch frustrating ass shit. Funny thing is I don’t even know why I want a hundred views.

I got shit I should be doing but I ain’t doing that shit. Shit that ain’t even true. I just got to write that god damn story. I like writing why don’t I want to write that shit? I don’t fucking know! Fuck!

Ok trying again. For real this time.

Uncle Bob Comes to Jesus

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Calling Uncle Bob.”

I don’t even know what that means. Have I ever turned to someone for a quick fix when I should sort it out myself? Calling Uncle Bob?

The funny thing is I have an Uncle Bob. Then again I guess that isn’t all that funny since probably everyone in America has an Uncle Bob. Shit I have two Uncle Bob’s.

One of them fell down a well once and landed on his back. Then he accepted Jesus as his personal savior.

His son had been telling him about Jesus for thirty years or something, but up until then he was a hard living ex-marine who didn’t need a personal savior.

HIs son was a preacher and when Uncle Bob fell down the well and miraculously learned to walk again (a year, three surgeries and months of physical therapy later), his son baptized him.

Then a few years later, Uncle Bob’s son went and got diagnosed with bipolar disease, divorced his wife and left his church and put on a Lynard Skynard t-shirt.

Yo Daily Post Was No Help Today

Did I mention my goal of two hundred posts before the end of the year? That means I’ve got like fifty left, so I think I’ll just throw a few one sentence posts up here for good measure.

Man, I was at fifty views today, and then I did the daily post and it somehow got messed up because nobody’s responses were coming up. I think if it had shown up on the website, even though it was pretty bad, I can’t even remember what I said but it was short and off the cuff, if it had shown up I could have maybe gotten 75 views and I’d be three quarters to my goal of a hundred views in a day by the end of the week.

Whatever, time to diversify my visibility strategy anyway.

Risk Adverse

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Envelope Pushers.”

The last time I took a big risk I didn’t even look at it as a risk and it didn’t turn out too well.

I left my job and went on vacation, thinking that I could easily find a better job when I came back.

Then I came back and realized I would have to go to interviews and submit resumes and shit and that was asphyxiating.

Then I found out that no one wanted to hire me and then I really freaked out.

I ran out of money and everyone was like, “Dude why did you quit your job?”

And I was like, “Shit man, I don’t know. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Was it Tuesday? Yeah it was Tuesday.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Spinning Yarns.”

What makes a good storyteller?

For starters I prefer someone who can end a story. So, not me. My stories have good beginnings and then by the middle I’m like so anyway how was your weekend?

My favorite storytellers are famous people because the people I know don’t really tell great stories. It seemed like back in the day I knew some funny storytellers, but not really any more. I think maybe some of the people I work with.

I hate storytellers who focus on details that don’t matter. Like when something actually happened when that isn’t part of the story. “Was it Tuesday? No, no…I think it was…Wed…nesday? Yeah, Wednesday. No it was Tuesday because that’s when I ate that sandwich I had been saving.”

Some of my favorite storytellers are Allie Brosh, Louis CK and Kurt Vonnegut. The first two are hilarious and the last one is funny, surprising and insightful. Oh and I love PG Wodehouse’s stories as long as they aren’t about golf. I like stories that are complex and twisty and have good endings. I like Sherlock Holmes stories, too.

A Good Day

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Sparkling or Still.”

My perfect day off would be me sitting around staring at a wall and being happy, so drugs would probably have to be involved. Mostly just alcohol.

I would wake up around 1 PM and eat pancakes and drink a few greyhounds.

Then I’d put a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and play Assassin’s Creed until I got hungry again.

Then I’d order a pizza with everything on it and mozzarella sticks too and when it arrived I’d use the bathroom since I had to get up anyway.

Then I’d put a six pack of Belgian beer on the table with the pizza and I’d watch a Tarantino movie until I was done eating.

Then I’d play Assassin’s Creed until my eyes bled.

Then I’d lay on the floor, listen to Pink Floyd and drink the rest of the whiskey until I passed out.

Well I Don’t Love YOU!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cousin It.”

Families are all weird for sure and I know this one guy who’s family is way weirder than mine and he is my brother-in-law so now he’s my family, too. He is an outlandish motherfucker who used to drive tanks in Afghanistan and also climbed ladders straight up four or twenty stories high and used to race family cars against cops and burners on the highways and never get caught and he had a V6 Camaro and took the muffler off to prove it.

He can’t be in the room with a conversation unless he rocks himself back and forth into a vegetative state or unless he’s controlling the conversation, it just depends on if there are stronger personalities as to which of those he’ll choose. If there’s no one to shut him down he’ll talk and talk about how he doesn’t want to interrupt you and wants you to talk to everyone else and you shouldn’t talk to him because he knows you have a better life than him and you should enjoy it. Then he’ll get a phone call and I’ll start talking to my sister like I came there to do and then he’ll wave us down and put the phone on speaker and say, “I want you guys to hear this! Listen!” and I’m only there for an hour or so to talk to my sister I haven’t seen in a long time and that’s how the whole thing goes and he’ll say, “Well I’m really glad you two got to catch up she really enjoys talking to you.”

He’s managed to take over the whole family, actually. When he’s not there we talk about how crazy he is and what he did this time and when he is there he talks about how crazy he is and what he did this time and a hundred other times and how no one understands the right way to do anything and that time he went to the city and honked at mother fuckers while drinking out of a warm two liter gas station brand soda he found under the seat the other day.

He came in here the other day and told a story loud enough for the whole building to hear and one part of it was him yelling three times, “I do NOT love you!” Ha! Crazy ass.